


Reverberation (of flames and)

by hellskitchensmurdock



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Case Fic, Drug Use, Episode: s02e14 The Big Game, Episode: s02e15 Revelations, Gen, Hurt, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Episode: s02e15 Revelations, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Russian Roulette, Spencer Reid Whump, Spencer Reid-centric, Spencer of course is once again not thriving, TW:, Unreliable Narrator, Whump, its kinda a bit choppy to reflect spencer, maybe? - Freeform, thats a given considering im the one whose written this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29859411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellskitchensmurdock/pseuds/hellskitchensmurdock
Summary: Pushing it away doesn't work; Spencer Reid is about to learn this.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid, Elle Greenaway & Spencer Reid
Comments: 14
Kudos: 41





	Reverberation (of flames and)

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone !! im back after nearly a month with a new fic! this has taken me a few weeks to write and it is my longest fic ever!!!! im super happy about this fic, and i hope you all enjoy this :)
> 
> first though, a couple of things to keep in mind. first, if you are on your phone i recommend you flip your phone to the side/horizontal, it'll help display the formatting better !! second, this fic is kinda choppy/skips some details, please note i have dont this on purpose to really portray this is is from spencer's pov and how he's going (ive also used to formatting to do this as well), third, i hope no one seems too ooc here, i'm kinda afraid they do but i wanted to share this anyways.
> 
> trigger warning: explicit drug use, discussions of suicide

Flames raged in the middle of his kitchen, desperate to leave the confines of the metal sink he had coated with fuel and matches. 

They stand tall, 

bright, 

and the remnants of burning fish hearts and livers float to his nose just as Noah’s ark floated across the flooded Earth.

Forty days and forty nights, his ark floated. 

Forty 

and forty 

and forty seconds 

since he woke up from another nightmare haunted by burning fish and God’s will. And forty more since he dropped the match, struck with strength he was sure he no longer had, into the sink.

He created the flames, and trapped them before they had a chance.

Hankel trapped him before he had a chance.

A chance to help JJ, 

to fight back, 

to talk him down.

Instead, he woke up with blood; sticky and coating the side of his head, creeping into his hair. Spreading across him like the itch for oblivion does now. He had been hit with his own gun, his own weapon that flew one way as he went the other.

He was never able to stand steady once the fists came flying. He had learnt that before most knew what it meant to be angry at the world.

They roar, the flames. They scream, they cry, they beg to be let out of their cage. 

They plead with him, just as he did with Hankel; 

_ I’m not a sinner.  _

_ I’m not a sinner,  _

_ I’m not a sinner,  _ they howl, he wept.

He ignores them, just as Hankel did with him.

Drops; mixed sweat and tears roll down his cheeks, and he’s not sure if they are from the flames or the early stages withdrawal.

_ My last hit was six hours ago now. _

He knows his shaking hands are from withdrawal. He also knows that one vial of Dilaudid is stuffed in the back of his sock drawer, while the other one lays, toppled over, on the bathroom floor.

It lays, 

already half empty, 

in accompaniment with his brown leather belt, 

still in a loose loop,

and 

the needle, 

which shoots the drugs into his veins, 

just as he shot the bullet into Hankel’s chest.

He shot so close to his heart, but not close enough as to not watch the light leave Tobias’ eyes. 

Even with the slowly, 

steadily, 

fading, 

Dilaudid floating through his veins, he was still aware enough to realise that he had just killed the only reason he survived as long as he did.

He knows that without Tobias’ help, he wouldn’t have made it to give the team the final clue to find him.

He wouldn’t have made it to the moment in which he pulled the trigger.

Tobias’ final sin was helping him, afterall; 

he never had a chance at being anything else, 

he didn’t either, he realised.

He wondered if that was true for everyone, or just for the two of them.

_ Were they both just sinners? _

The blazing flames; 

they seem to think so.

All is silent in his apartment, aside from the fire and his own heavy breathing. Until his phone rings. It buzzes, and the sensitive vibrations send it across the workbench on which he had placed it. He doesn’t tear his eyes away from the fire as he answers the call.

“This is Dr. Reid,” he says, because he didn’t see who was calling.

He’s too focused on controlling the flames.

“Hey, Boy Wonder,” Garcia has a tired tinge to her soft kindness. Unsurprising, since it was three in the morning last time he checked. “We have a new case… Is everything okay? You sound like you’ve run a mile.”

He took a moment to control his breathing.

He shouldn’t have.

“Reid… What’s that… hissing?” Garcia asks.

It takes a moment to realise she’s talking about the flames he hasn’t peeled his eyes from as they beg for the freedom he was denied. “It’s nothing. I’ll see you soon.”

“Wait R-”

He cuts her off.

He has trouble leaving his apartment. Not because he doesn’t want to go, but because he doesn’t want to free the flames from the prison he’s encased them in.

After all, Hankel didn’t grant him that mercy.

Spencer Reid had to free himself.

Most days, he thinks he failed.

—

Hotch prefaces the briefing with, “this case came directly from the Director.”

_ Hollow and humorless chuckles echo. _

Before JJ begins, Spencer takes the time to flip through the file. Dread fills him as he realises why Hotch had told them. He’s apologising, to him, saying he had no control over the case they got.

_ Bounce off the bathroom tiles as he sits atop the counter. _

Spencer hates him for it.

“Three high profile women were found dead in Arkansas, each found with a single gunshot wound to the forehead.” JJ begins the presentation with her usual stoic manner, which is only shaken when she sees him walk into the room.

_ Sinks either side of him. _

“Close range, execution style. Points to a mission oriented unsub.” Hotch says, flipping through the crime scene photos and carefully keeping his own stoic mask fixed on the file.

_ Leaning against the mirror, rolling the vial of Dilaudid as if it’s a marble. _

“But it’s a straightforward case,” Morgan, ever the skeptic, points out. “Why are we being called in?”

“A few reasons. There’s the obvious; the victims were all high profile. Second; these were found at the crime scenes.” On the screen, there were remnants of what looked like pages from a Bible. “It seems to be Proverbs 16:4.”

_ The lord works everything to its proper end- even the wicked for a day of disaster. _

“How are you so sure?” Prentiss asks, and the crackle in her early morning, barely awake voice reminds him of fire.

Flames.

Burning flames.

She coughs; the fire is put out.

_ How can anyone relinquish control so easily? _

_ So willingly? _

“It makes sense, considering what the bullets had carved on them,” she hesitates, glancing at him. Her eyes linger, and it makes his skin crawl. Crawl with a need to escape into oblivion, to escape the stares that pierce him like Hankel’s bullet never did.

Unknown to them, he already knows.

“God’s will,” 

_ It’s God’s will.  _

_ Choose and prove you’ll do God’s will.  _

_ For God’s will. _

The room goes silent, everyone avoids his gaze, and instead glance at each other. He focuses on the file. Dead eyes may pierce his soul the same way as living ones do; but the thing about the dead is that they can’t share your secrets.

_ They don’t know,  _

he reassures himself.

_ They don’t know that; _

_ Tobias drugged you. _

_ Do you think I’ll get to see my mum again? _

_ You stole the vials off his dead body. _

_ Tell me it doesn’t make it better. _

_ You’ve shot up everyday since you’ve been back. _

It’s Morgan who finally says something. “It’s only been a few months.”

_ What’s that supposed to mean? _

“Reid, are you sure it’s a good idea you’re here?” he asks. “Considering the nature of the case, no one would blame you if you stepped out for this one.”

_ They don’t know you shot up that morning. _

“Why would I do that?” Spencer snaps.

_ Not enough. Not enough. Not enough. _

“Spence… Maybe Morgan’s right, it hasn’t been that long since Hankel,” JJ attempts to reason. Maybe if he wasn’t high and craving and not high enough, maybe he’d see sense in what she was saying. Or maybe he’d just come to the same conclusion.

“You think I can’t do my job.”

_ The Devil knows how to read, too. _

“We aren’t saying that at all. Of course you can, but maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea if you took some time. You went through something-”

_ Everything’s fine. It’s all okay. He breathes, heavy. _

_ The belt wraps around his arm. _

_ He wraps the belt around it this time. _

“I’m fine,” he exclaims. JJ flinches, even the others are taken aback. He doesn’t have time to worry about that. “I’m fine, and I can do my job. I’ve been cleared to work in the field for ages so there’s no use in me wasting my time at home.”

_ In truth, that’s where he wants to be.  _

_ He has control there.  _

_ He can see himself, _

_ screaming and pleading, in the form of  _

_ blaring,  _

_ boiling,  _

_ blazing  _

_ fire. _

Before anything else can be said, Spencer stalks out of the room; 

_ Clean needle slides into the vial. _

file in hand and bag swinging from his shoulder. 

_ He pulls the plunger back, and up it comes. _

They don’t know what he’s hiding in there. 

_ Flick. Flick. Flick. _

They don’t know that inside the bag lies exactly what he needs.

Exactly what he needs to fill the void fire can’t.

_ Into his arm, then push the plunger. _

—

Once, Spencer may have fooled himself into believing the jet was heaven, a safe haven from all the horrors down below, plaguing the Earth. As if he was rewarded for putting his life on the line, for saving others, for being one of the many who decided he would face the worst of humanity so the rest don’t have to.

Now it just feels like purgatory,

_ a place in which the souls of sinners go to repent. _

_ We must all repent. _

Except his soul is forever tainted, and he is forever damned to hell, 

_ where evil souls are subjected as eternal punishment. _

_ And hell followed with him. _

He supposes that’s what happens to sinners. 

_ He wonders when he really gets there if he’ll see him. _

_ Will they all be there, the haunting trinity? _

_ The father: Charles, _

_ The son: Tobias, _

_ The spirit, the ghost; Raphael? _

_ Can angels- _

_ unfallen angels-  _

_ even go to hell? _

His head rests against the window, and he curls up on the single seat at the back of the plane, one facing away from the team. The reeling sensation makes it hard to lift his head from the window, even if he can distantly feel Gideon’s hand on his shoulder, silently telling him that they are reviewing the case.

Gideon, noticing his struggle, grants him mercy and helps him spin the seat around. 

Mercy.

_ They don’t know he granted the same to the flames. _

_ He didn’t want to. _

_ He didn’t deserve it. _

_ Raphael is going to kill the sinners who live here. _

“Thanks,” he whispers, despite every bone in his body screaming for him to protest. To tell the man who has been like a father to 

_ stop,  _

_ please,  _

_ save yourself,  _

_ I don’t deserve this. _

It wouldn’t change anything; Gideon is nothing if not stubborn.

He watches Hotch and Gideon whisper for a moment. Hotch glances his way, and Gideon shakes his head. He thinks he hears the tale end of 

_ I’ll keep an eye on him. _

_ Like you have since the night you found me? _

_ The night you didn’t even notice me take the vials? _

_ An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. He really means; _

_ I’ll make sure no one gets fired over this. _

He grabs the file from the table and opens it with rage-born force he can’t entinguish. He feels it through his clouded mind and Dilaudid coated veins. He feels it through the stares of his team he is ignoring.

_ The fire is inside now. _

_ Screaming, pleading, begging. _

_ He can never put it out. _

Gideon moves forward with the review, motioning for Morgan to call Garcia. Through the fog, a fog so heavy and disorientating he can’t move his head, he can still listen well enough. He listens to Garcia lists off the victims, their place of work and any other information needed about them.

“Reid, what about victimology?” Gideon asks.

Gratefulness floods his system as Gideon gives him an opportunity to prove himself. He takes a breath and straightens his posture, uncurls himself. 

_ He can’t feel the pain radiating from his foot. _

_ Time to confess, Spencer Reid. _

_ I _

_ I don’t have anything to confess. _

He pushes his hair out of his face and begins.

“It’s very particular; all women in their early thirties in high profile positions, all of them are white and have brown hair and eyes, which points to them being surrogates,” he explains. 

_ See? I can do my job. _

_ The Devil can read, too. _

_ I just needed a minute. _

_ You should’ve just confessed your sins. _

Hotch takes over from there, suggesting that the surrogate is a mother or sister. The team continue to bounce back and forth, with Garcia occasionally checking for information they needed. 

“Gideon and Morgan go to the latest crime scene. Prentiss, you go to the ME’s office. Reid and JJ, you two come with me to the local PD,” Hotch directs. “JJ, we’ll conduct interviews with family, Reid, you get started on a geographical profile.”

_ Geographical profile, that’s easy enough. _

Gratefulness had flooded through his system; it had when Gideon gave him a chance, and it had again now that the review of the case was over. But not enough to drown the fire burning his soul to the ash it had always been. 

His soul is tainted, 

_ damned to hell for all eternity,  _

it always has been. 

_ And now it’s on fire too. _

And unlike the howling flames from his kitchen sink; 

_ he can’t put this one out. _

It’s fine.

It doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t deserve mercy anyways.

—

_ Dear Mum, I hope you are doing well. I sent you a book the other week, one by Emily Dickinson. I’m sure you’ve read it, but when I saw it I thought of you and I wanted you to have it. I know you always tell me to not judge a book by its cover, but the flowers, they’re iris’. They symbolise hope, something you’ve always given me. _

They all got their own hotel rooms, thankfully. Because besides the geographical profile, he had also been tasked to work with Garcia on analysing a video they were sent. It was a threat, and a display, that the unsub would do anything to complete his mission.

Including kidnapping and killing law enforcement officers. 

_ I don’t have much of that left anymore. I remember when I was young, on one of your good days, you looked into my eyes and smiled.  _

Spencer wasn’t letting that happen.

Not again.

_ I didn’t know why so, ever the curious child, I asked. You said “You are so full of hope,” and I’ve held onto that ever since. This job; the FBI, profiling, seeing the worst humanity has to offer, it gnaws at your soul until something breaks it, and reveals it for what it is. _

He learnt how to do this on plastic years ago; perks of being a magician. The real thing wasn’t so easy, especially when your hands won’t stop shaking as you come down from a high. He started practising with his own pair three weeks ago, after an unsub had tackled him against a post and handcuffed him.

_ Three months ago I learnt that my soul is molton and ash and destined to rot in hell for all eternity.  _

He should’ve started sooner.

_ I don’t know how to come back from that. _

Between his shoulder blades had burned a fire. 

_ No. _

He was never letting that happen again.

He shouldn’t have let it happen at all. Ever.

_ Dear Mum, I think you’d be happy to hear I’m not in the field as often anymore. I don’t think you’d be happy with the reason. _

He slides flattened paperclips into the lining of his coat and sweatervest and shirts. He slides the final two into the cuffs of the sleeves that he never rolls up anymore. He’s done this before; he knows where the best places to hide them are.

_ I don’t want to tell her that. _

For every position he could be cuffed in.

_ Dear Mum, I don’t know how I still have a job. _

The officer their unsub killed in the video had his hands cuffed behind his back.

“Reid, if you’re watching, you’re not responsible for this.”

_ Dear Mum, I wish I let my kitchen burn down this morning. Maybe all the rottenness that has seeped from my soul will be washed away with the roaring flames as they thank me for setting them free.  _

_ Do I? _

That’s where he starts.

_ Dear Mum, his name was Tobias Hankel. He never set me free. _

_ No. _

He has the one cuff already secure around his wrist. He uses his back and the wall to secure the second one. Now, he waits for the second-hand to get around to twelve and

_ Dear Mum, I don’t remember what it feels like to exist without _

_ Stop. _

Start.

_ Dear Mum, I don’t know how I haven’t been fired yet. I haven’t not been high in three months, there’s no way a bunch of profilers don’t know what’s going on. Plausible deniability, they’ll call it if I get caught. I know Gideon’s trying to keep a lid on it, but it won’t be long until I slip up or someone can’t stand by and watch anymore. _

He focuses on the clock, ticking and ticking, as he goes through the process.

_ I feel like we are all waiting for a bomb to go off. They’re waiting for me to stop or to go too far, and I’m waiting for them to do something I don't want them to do. I think that’s the scariest thing; I don’t want help. I’m scared, Mum. I’m so scared because I know what’s waiting for me. _

Slide out the paperclip.

The one from the left cuff.

_ Pain. Just pain. Endless pain. I don’t think I could survive it. _

Bend into position.

_ I don’t think I want to. _

Not like that.

Pick the lock.

_ Oh god. _

_ Dear Mum, just this morning. The dead of night kind of morning, I was thinking about how the jet was purgatory. I think I was wrong. I think existence is purgatory. _

The handcuff clicks open.

_ Oh god. _

_ Dear Mum, I don’t know what to do anymore. _

Repeat.

_ Dear Mum, _

And repeat.

_ Dear Mum, _

And repeat.

_ Dear Mum, it doesn’t matter. None of these are getting sent. _

—

Spencer stabbed the map backed by cork with another two pins; the last known location of the unsubs fourth victim, and where her body was dumped. She fit the victimology; a white woman in her early thirties with brown hair, brown eyes and a high profile career. 

They found her body while his hands were cuffed behind his back.

_ “Hey, Pretty Boy,” Morgan knocks on his door. _

_ Bangs, more like it. _

_ “They found another body.” _

_ He freezes, tenses up, except for his shaking hands.  _

He crosses his arms to hide them as he tries to discern a pattern from the map hanging in front of him.

_ “Hotch wants us to go?” Spencer asks, trying to still his hands long enough to slide the paperclip into the lock. _

_ That’s not how it works. _

_ “No, me and Prentiss are going,” Morgan says, and he doesn’t know if he’s glad or not. _

Maybe if he stares at it long enough the map will come to life and tell him the pattern. He barely stops himself from groaning before plopping onto one of the seats in the conference room and burying his head in his hands.

_ “Why are you telling me then?” he asks. _

_ He snaps, and he doesn’t mean to but Morgan doesn’t say anything so neither does he. _

_ “Hotch wants you to get down to the station, work on the geographical profile. Also, I wanted to let you know, there was a revolver found at the crime scene. I thought maybe it’d help.” _

He’s missing something.

_ “The unsub left it?” _

_ “Yeah, on purpose or because he’s in a hurry we don’t know, but according to the cops, it was empty.” Morgan confirms, before he hears Prentiss calling for him. “See you soon, Reid.” _

He takes a deep breath and clasps his shaking hands together. He wants to make it stop, just as he wants to make the rising pain 

_ everywhere _

stop, but there’s still a used needle on the hotel bathroom floor that screams, 

_ it’s too soon. _

He needs to be conscious to do his job.

_ The cuffs dig into his wrists as he becomes more desperate to unlock them. His heart _

_ Ba boom. _

_ Ba boom. _

_ Ba boom. _

_ He can’t get free. _

_ Ba boom. _

_ Ba boom. _

_ Ba boom. _

_ The chains linking the cuffs together rattle. _

_ “Are you okay, Kid?” _

_ Ba boom. _

Ba boom.

_ Hadn’t Morgan left? _

_ “Yeah, fine,” he says.  _

_ Ba boom. _

_ He winces quietly as the cuff nicks his skin. _

_ Ba boom. _

“You sure?” Hotch asks, coming up next to him.

Ba boom.

Ba boom.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” he deflects in the worst way possible. Luckily, Hotch just gives him a look and walks past him, to the map.

“Have you gotten anything from the new locations?”

“No,” he replies. “There’s a pattern, I just can’t see it yet.”

“You’ve been in here for hours. You should take a break and then get back to it,” Hotch gives him a rare smile, but Spencer sees right through it. He knows this can’t go on longer, and for a moment he’s almost convinced that Hotch is going to tell him that this is his last case right there and then.

“You can’t keep lying, Spencer,” Hotch suddenly says. “This can’t keep going on.”

Ba boom.

Ba boom.

Ba boom.

He thinks he’s just been given a lifeline. 

Ba boom.

Ba boom.

He leaves it to be burnt by his flames.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, plastering a smile onto his face. “Plausible deniability is a wonderful thing.”

Hotch stares at him for a moment, and Spencer thinks he sees his heart break through his eyes.

_ Reid. _

_ You alright? _

“On a completely unrelated note, of course,” he adds at the end.

Hotch, 

reluctantly, 

nods and walks out of the room.

_ I knew you’d understand. _

He keeps pushing his friends away; he wants their help but he doesn’t deserve it. Or he doesn’t. He doesn’t know.

_ God preached mercy for sinners. _

He doesn’t deserve that.

_ I’m not a sinner. _

He doesn’t deserve goodness.

_ I’m not a sinner. _

Fire and Dilaudid coat his veins all the same.

It leaves him hot and cold; sweating either way.

_ I’m not a sinner. _

In the unsubs eyes, the victims are. His eyes widen at the realisation.

_ The lord works everything to its proper end- even the wicked for a day of disaster. _

_ “God’s will,”  _

_ The revolver left at the crime scene. _

_ Empty. _

_ “For God’s will,” Raphael said, before inserting a single bullet into the barrel and spinning it. _

They were sinners, just as he was in Hankel’s eyes. 

How does this unsub choose their victims? 

_ “JJ, get back here, he’s the unsub,” _

What makes them sinners in the unsubs eyes?

_ It was the monitors that gave him away. _

What was missing turned out to not be on the map.

It is, but maybe he can distract the others. 

They don’t need to know he couldn’t see it.

Just outside the window, Hotch and Gideon were speaking. No doubt about him, but he needed to bring this to the team. As he reaches the door, he nearly runs into JJ, Morgan and Prentiss who all have coffee.

“Here,” Morgan says, holding a second one out. “What were you doing, running out of here so quickly?”   
  


“Yeah, and do you know what Hotch and Gideon are talking about?” Prentiss adds.

“Stop asking so many questions,” he snaps. A weak response, he knows this as he takes the coffee from Morgan, but they don’t need to be more suspicious of him then they already are.

_ There’s no point. _

_ They already know. _

_ Plausible deniability. Don’t ruin it. _

Before they can call him out, he tells them what he’s realised. “I’ve been looking at the geographical profile all morning but I couldn’t figure out what I was missing.”

“Okay,” JJ says, sharing a confused glance with the others.

_ They don’t know. _

“That’s when I realised; what I, what we are missing isn’t on this map,” he explains.

_ Or maybe they do. Hotch definitely does. _

_ Plausible deniability. _

“What do you mean?” Hotch asks.

_ I don’t know I don’t know I don’t _

Gideon follows him into the room.

_ Focus. _

“The Bible verse, the gun at this latest crime scene, the bullets,” Spencer lists off.

_ “God’s will,” carved onto it, just as it’s carved into his mind. _

  
  


“The unsub is killing sinners on the basis of God’s will.”

“What do you mean, Reid?”

“He’s playing Russian Roulette with them, that’s why the gun was empty,” he tells them, his tone becoming slightly higher as he goes on. “He’s finding sinner’s and killing them if it’s God’s will.”

_ “Choose, and prove you will do God’s will.” _

“But, how does he choose them?” Morgan asks.

“And are there some victims he let go?” Hotch adds.

—

_ Same show, different channel. _

“The unsub is a white male,” Hotch begins.

_ Was that the saying? _

“Most likely in his mid twenties to mid thirties,” he continues, and Spencer watches him scan over the group of police officers in front of him.

_ He finds himself sitting between two sinks, just as he did back at Quantico. _

Morgan takes over from here, saying, “He is killing surrogates for a female figure in his life who has become successful, and possibly left him behind, while he isn’t doing as well for himself as she is.”

_ How long ago was that? _

_ One day, nine hours and three minutes. _

_ He can still feel the heat from the flames in his own sink. _

“Surrogates? How do you know that?” one of the officers asks, notepad and pen ready to record the answer.

_ Or maybe that’s because he hasn’t had a hit in _

_ In how long? _

_ Five hours and three minutes. _

_ Three minutes. _

_ Three. _

_ The number of son’s Noah had. _

_ The number of wise men. _

“The victimology,” Spencer inserts hesitantly.

_ He digs through his messenger bag.  _

_ The number of days before the resurrection. _

_ They used to think it was odd that he took it to the bathroom. _

He quickly glances around, and catches Hotch’s gaze. He nods, and Spencer continues.

_ The number of unclean spirits to deceive the world in Armageddon. _

_ For they are spirits of devils. _

_ There are far more than three in this world. _

_ He is one of them. _

“All the victims are identical in looks as well as the fact they are all high-profile, which point to the unsub’s real target being someone in his life who shares the same characteristics,” he explains, and he swears he sees a look of pride flash through Hotch’s eyes.

_ Now, it’s normal. _

_ It shouldn’t be. _

_ The number of angels named. _

_ Micheal, Lucifer and _

_ Raphael has killed them before their lies can free more sinners. _

_ The number of times he pulled the trigger before _

  
  


He ignores it.

_ The vial is almost empty. _

“This woman is most likely an ex, or maybe a sister,” Emily elaborates, “So search for anyone in the area who fits that profile who has at least one brother, or has gone through a divorce or break up recently.”

_ I chose Aaron Hotchner. _

_ He can save it for later.  _

“That’s kind of broad,” a young officer standing at the back says.

_ The number of times he _

“Yes, but once we have the names we can work with our technical analyst to narrow down that list,” Morgan says, offering the officer a smile when a light blush rises in her cheeks.

_ No harm done, _ he is telling her.

_ No. No. This needs to stop. _

_ Tell me it doesn’t make it better. _

_ Hotch was right; this can’t keep going on. _

_ Just like my son. _

_ He needs to stop. He needs to get clean. _

_ I used to come here to get high. _

“The unsub also views these women as sinners, and is killing them using a revolver,” Emily explains. “We believe he is playing Russian Roulette with them, and therefore believe there are victims he didn’t kill. We are currently holding a press conference in which this information will be given to the public.”

_ He clutches the vial in one hand, the other resting on his bag. _

“Time is of the essence,” Hotch is saying, and Spencer knows he’s telling all of them this, not just the officers.

_ This can’t keep going. _

“We have to hit the ground running, thank you.”

_ This needs to stop. _

_ I confess. _

_ I can’t. _

_ Belt around his arm, needle slides into his veins. Another pin-prick hole joins the rest. _

With that, the group breaks away. The officers return to their desks, while he and the rest of the team follow Hotch back into the conference room.

_ Different beginning, different middle, but the same ending every time. _

Five minutes later, JJ and Gideon return inside from the press conference, in which they gave the profile to the media. Judging by the irritated look on JJ’s face as she beelines for the coffee machine lets him know exactly what they are dealing with.

_ In chess; one wins and one loses. _

She brings him a coffee, and all signs of irritation are gone.

_ In real life; Spencer always loses.  _

“Thanks.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

_ He thinks he finally understands how Elle felt. _

—

He decides to call her. He understands his error now; that what he said to her that night was wrong. He needs to apologise. 

_ You won. _

No one ever wins.

His phone shakes in his hand as he dials the number Garcia gave him.

They never seem to stop shaking these days.

_ “Hey Reid, how are you going?” Garcia asked. _

_ “I’m fine, why does everyone keep asking that?” _

_ There’s a moment of silence before she continued, “we’re all worried about you, Reid. We have been for a long time.” _

_ He sighed. He knew he let this go too far. _

_ “I’m sorry,” he whispered, before clearing his throat and acting like he never said it. “Can you find a phone number for me?” _

_ “Sure, whose do you need?” _

_ “Elle’s.” _

He presses the call button and brings it to his ear.

_ One ring. _

_ Two. _

“Who is this and how did you get this number?” her voice is sharp, guarded, just as it did in the months before she left.

It’s been less than a year, but it feels like a lifetime ago.

“Elle, hi. It’s uh…” his voice trails off, his mouth becoming dry. Dryer than it already was.

“Well if it isn’t Dr Reid,” she repeats her own words, her voice softer than before.

_ “Elle,” he had said, surprised to see her. _

“And if this is Reid, then you would’ve gotten my number from Garcia.”

“Yes,” he confirms. “I did. How have you been?”

If Elle noticed his quickness to steer the topic away from himself, she doesn’t say anything. 

“I’ve been doing better, there are bad days, but they come far less than the good ones,” she admits.

“That’s really good to hear.” Spencer hopes she hears the sincerity.

“Yeah, well, you helped.”

“I did?”

“Yeah,” she says. “That night in the hotel room. It meant a lot to me.”

“I was wrong,”

_ “You’re right here,” _

_ “You won.” _

“What I said was wrong.” Spencer shakes his head, despite her not being about to see him.

“We can’t always get it right,” she says, and Spencer almost thinks she’s forgiven him. 

Almost.

_ Sinners don’t get forgiveness. _

_ They get flames. _

“But you showed me you cared, you reached out when no one else did. Thank you,” she says.

“I’m sorry I got it wrong. I know better now.”

“It’s-”

Whatever she was going to say dies, and she begins something new. “What do you mean?”

“What?”

“What do you mean you know better now?” Worry seeps into her voice, and it makes him cringe. No one needs to worry about him, he’s fine.

_ I’m fine. _

He must have been silent for too long, because she’s speaking again.

“What happened, Spencer?”

_ Fish hearts and livers. _

_ See inside of men’s minds. _

_ You’re lying. _

_ I don’t want it.  _

_ Are you ready, boy? _

_ I’ll choose who lives. _

_ He cannot break you. _

_ Tobias, help me. _

_ That’s the Devil vacating your body. _

_ Choose one to die. _

_ Reid? _

_ I knew you’d understand _

_ You alright? _

_ I knew you’d understand. _

_ Can I have a second alone? _

_ Beginning of the end. _

_ I knew you’d understand. _

He tells her everything. By the end he’s clamping and hand over his mouth to stop his sobs, which attempted to crawl from his chest and out into the world.

“I’m a sinner,” he whispers, his voice breaking.

“No, Spencer,” Elle says. “You are a good person. What Hankel told you is a lie, you are not a sinner.”

_ The burning flames, _

_ crashing and roaring against his sink, _

_ they seem to disagree. _

“I hope you believe me one day.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have just… dumped that on you.”

“Don’t apologise, I’m glad you told me everything.”

_ Needles and vials sit at the bottom of his bag. _

He didn’t tell her everything.

“You know where to call if you ever need to talk some more,” she tells him.

He lied.

_ Lying’s a sin. _

“Same goes for you,” he says, even though he doesn’t know if he could help her, if the time came.

_ I’m not a liar. _

_ I’m not a liar. _

_ I’m a liar. _

_ I confess. _

—

Hotch had ordered Spencer to search the house with him, while Prentiss and Morgan searched the shed outside. They creep through the house; Hotch upstairs, and Spencer on ground level, approaching the stairs to the basement.

With his gun held out, Spencer quietly pushes the door open and descends the stairs. 

At the first sight of the unsub, he freezes and brings his microphone to his mouth.

_ “Garcia got him,” Morgan said. “His name is Zack Thornton, she’s sent us his address.” _

“Hotch, I found him. He’s in the basement.”

“Wait for backup,” Hotch says, and Spencer ignores him.

“Zack Thornton, FBI,” he says calmly, keeping his gun level.

_ Two hours, four minutes and seven, _

_ eight, _

_ nine,  _

_ ten _

_ seconds since his last hit. _

_ He shouldn’t be here. _

Thornton is holding the revolver he’s been using on his victims, since he had to ditch the last one. He stands up, pointing it at Spencer. After the initial surprise, the man becomes calm. Spencer, on the other hand, is becoming more agitated.

“Put the gun down,” he says sharply.

“No, not until God’s will has been carried out for the final time.”

_ Live or die. _

_ They don’t care. _

_ As long as its _

“God’s will isn’t being carried out here. All you are doing is getting revenge for the women who left you.”

Thornton tightens the grip on his gun, and he can’t bring himself to care that he said the wrong thing. Not this time. This man means nothing to him, not like Elle does.

“No. Forty sinners must be put on trial before His will has been served,” he is calmer, and Spencer feels like he’s waiting for a bomb to go off. “And now the fortieth sinner  _ will  _ be on trial.”

He watches as Thornton stalks around the makeshift workbench.

“Please,”

_ I don’t want it. _

_ I don’t want it. _

_ Please. _

“Don’t hurt me,” the woman in his grip pleads.

_ Just as he did. _

_ Just as the flames did. _

“You’ll only be hurt if God wills it to be.”

_ “He pointed a gun at my head, and pulled the trigger,” the women said. _

_ “What happened then?” _

_ “The bullet didn’t come out, and he said God had decided it wasn’t my time yet.” _

“Put the gun down,” he repeats, stepping closer to the victim.

“No.”

He looks over his shoulder, wondering when Hotch was coming.

“Waiting for you friend?” Thornton laughs. “I have friends too, friends that help me carry out God’s mission. They’ll stop anyone who gets in their way.”

“Hotch? Hotch!” he calls into the microphone. He doesn’t get a response. “What have you done to him?”

“I haven’t done anything, I’m not-”

_ With them. _

_ I’m with you. _

_ Do you think you can defy me? _

“Shut up,” he snaps, “and let her go.”

“What don’t you understand! Forty sinners must be put on trial!” he exclaims.

_ Choose. _

_ I won’t do it. _

_ Choose. _

_ No. _

_ Choose. _

_ I choose Aaron Hotchner. _

_ This is your fault. _

“Then put me on trial.”

“What?” Thornton loosens his grip on the lady, a woman who looks just like the other victims.

“She’s innocent. She has nothing to be on trial for,” Spencer explains.

“How do you know?”

_ Can you really see inside men’s minds? _

“I’m a devil. I can see inside men’s minds. I can see she’s innocent.” Spencer lets out a sigh of relief as the unsub lets go of the woman and makes his way over to him. On the way, he picks up a single bullet.

_ God’s will. _

It’s carved into the bullet just like it is in his heart.

Wordlessly, Thornton takes his gun from him and he lets him without a fight. Maybe he can do one last bit of good, just as Tobias tried to. Though, he’s under no illusion that he will die sinless.

“What’s your name?” Thornton asks.

“Spencer Reid,”

_ Time to confess, Spencer Reid. _

“What are your sins?”

“I told you. I’m a devil, and I can see inside men’s minds.”

“The angels gave me the same power,” he says. “I know you are hiding something.”

“I interrupted your mission,” he replies. 

“Yes, but why should I choose you and not her?”

“I’m twenty-five and I have three PhD’s. I don’t deserve those,” he plays into the victimology.

“There’s still something else.” Thornton slides the bullet into the chamber and spins it. Spencer tries to keep his eye on it, and he thinks he knows where it is once he slams the chamber closed. “You have a final moment to confess.”

_ I don’t have anything to confess. _

_ Liar. _

“I killed a man,” he whispers.

_ Do you think I’ll get to see my mum again? _

“He was just trying to help me.” Guilt floods him once again, as it always does.

Thornton cocks the gun, and

_ no. _

_ Choose, and prove you will do God’s will. _

_ No. _

_ No. _

_ I won’t do it. _

“Reid, are you okay?”

He turns to see Hotch, his face flooded with concern and his arms around his shoulders. 

“Reid,”

_ Are you alright? _

“I had him!” he shouts instead, sudden rage boiling over the edge. “I know where the bullet was, he wasn’t going to shoot me!”

_ Liar. _

—

The sides of his sink are still charred, and Spencer feels as though he has one final sliver of control over the flames. Just as, he's coming to realise, Hankel still has over him. He doesn’t know what to do about it.

_ He does. But he can’t. _

He feels stuck, staring at the ash, hardened to the sides. The knock on his door pulls him free, but he doesn’t move to answer it.

“Reid, it’s me,” he hears Hotch say to him. “I need you to open up.”

He doesn’t explicitly say what he’ll do if he doesn’t open the door, but he knows Hotch is serious. Even on the edge of the comedown from his latest hit, he can tell. He decides not to fight, and opens the door.

“Come in,” he whispers, standing aside to let the older man pass.

He gets them coffee and they sit on his couch. In the haze of Dilaudid, he could almost convince himself that the golden sun shining through the gap in his curtain is enough to make this the idyllic scene he’s never gotten.

“You lied to me,” Hotch begins.

_ I knew where the bullet was going. _

_ No. _

_ No. _

_ I won’t do it. _

_ No. _

_ I chose Aaron _

“Hotch,” he attempts to defuse the idea he already knows is too deeply planted inside his mind. That’s the thing about ideas; once they are there, there is no putting them out.

Much like the fire in his soul, he thinks.

“I checked the barrel, Reid,” he sharply replies. “If he had pulled the trigger, you would be dead.”

_ Lying’s a sin. _

_ I’m not a liar. _

Spencer doesn’t say anything. He’s speechless. He wills the rage he felt before, after Hotch shot the unsub, but nothing comes. Instead, he shrugs. For a man who is usually so stoic, he thinks it should be harder to watch Hotch’s heart break.

“What happened down there?”

_ Down. _

_ Down. _

_ Down in the cemetery. _

_ I may bury my dead out of my sight. _

_ He. _

_ Dig faster. _

_ I. _

_ I’m not strong enough. _

_ You’re all weak. _

_ I’m not weak. _

_ I’m not weak. _

_ I’m- _

“I don’t know,” he admits in a broken whisper. “I just wanted to save that woman and… I can’t explain it.”

“Spencer,” he looks up to Hotch. “I need to ask: do you want to die?”

He has to think about it, and maybe that is in and of itself an answer, but Spencer speaks up anyway. “I just want it to stop hurting.”

His voice cracks, and he suppresses the sobs threatening to claw their way up. He misses the way Hotch reaches out, too busy getting up to begin pacing.

The restlessness is getting to him.

_ As soon as he could move again he didn’t stop. _

_ He’s been running ever since Hotch lifted him from the ground. _

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits as Hotch stops him. The sobs echo.

_ Bouncing off the bathroom tiles. _

_ No. That’s not right. _

He collapses into Hotch’s chest, and after a moment he’s guided back to the couch. 

“I’m sorry,”

_ Spencer, don’t do this to me. _

_ “I’m so sorry,”  _

_ What are you sorry for, boy? _

_ I sent her away. _

_ I couldn’t help her. _

_ Is that your confession? _

“It’s okay, Spencer,” Hotch assures him. “It’s okay.”

When he calms down, Hotch grabs him a glass of water. He opens and shuts his mouth a few times, and Spencer knows he isn’t going to like what’s coming.

“You only had two days off,” he begins. 

“No,” Spencer cuts him off. “I don’t need time off, I need to be on the job.”

“You need to heal.”

“I am healing!”

_ Liar. _

_ Lying’s a sin. _

“Pretending it never happened isn’t the same as healing.”

It’s that moment that Spencer knows he isn’t just being thrown a rope he has to swim to reach. Hotch knows, he’s sure of it as he watches his gaze flicker to his bag, his elbow and back to his eyes.

He stays silent for forty

And forty

And forty seconds.

Slowly, his own body is producing the heat the flames gave him in the worst way possible, and he wishes to watch the flames dance along to their own dismal soundtrack, their own hissing and roaring and begging. He wishes he could be set out as easy as the flames, not even a trace of ash left of him.

Hotch watches him, patiently waiting for a response.

“I don’t know what else to do.”

_ Is this your confession? _

_ I confess. _

**Author's Note:**

> hello again, i hope you enjoyed that !!
> 
> if you want to reach out, weather its about something to do with the fanfic (especially if there is something that i should change, i dont want to hurt anyone) or just see what im up to between posting fics, my tumblr is @heathridgemanor !! i have started uni now, so i probably wont write a fic at this length for a while, if i ever do again, but i hope to get some one shots out
> 
> i hope to see you soon :)


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